Knowing Blue
by Ms. Selly
Summary: (Post NFA) Watching the alley, Illyria thinks back about Wesley, the loss of her god-king status...and being blue.


Knowing Blue

A/N: Set after 'Not Fade Away'

Disclaimer: Only the plot line is mine.

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            Illyria was blue, and always had been so.  Or, more correctly, blue was Illyria.  And had always been so.  She had been the very first creation to be blue.  She had loved her coloring so much, she scattered it all throughout her many realms.  A sort of tribute to herself.  And, to remind all lower beings who the God-king here was, she painted the top of her primary dominion her color.

            Imaginably, she was shocked and disgusted to see how casually her lovely shade was now used.  Humans, daring to wear the color of the God-king in their eyes, hair and apparel.  It was everywhere, humans tossed it around like they had every right…like they had invented blue.  It infuriated her.

            After a while the fury lessened.  It probably had something to do with Wesley telling her to think of it like, after all these millennia, everyone who used blue was still paying tribute to her.  That thought pleased her.  But one thing still bothered her.  How her gorgeous color was now symbolic of sadness.  She could never comprehend that.

            But she knew now. She understood.  Every fiber of her existence, every piece of her overall being was sad.  Because he was dead.  Wesley.  He had been her teacher, her guardian…and also her friend.  She had tried to wave away these feelings as just the affection that still lingered inside the shell's body.  The God-king did not befriend.  She conquered.  Affection was a silly mortal emotion that was left over in the shell's psyche.  But it was more than that.  He was a human.  Not particularly strong, or interesting.  But he cared about her.  A murderer.

            She had killed the one he loved.  Not a premeditated move, or even a cruel one.  Simply convenient.  This was the shell her Qual H'Xan had provided for her.  And she felt no remorse from taking it.  She was Illyria, she was blue, she was God-king of the Primordium.  Anything she fancied was hers.  No questions, no cares, no sympathy.  Merely apathy.

            But she had begun to care.  True, she was never sorry she had killed Winifred Burkle…but she felt a twinge of guilt about causing Wesley so much pain.  That was bad.  The God-king did not feel guilty about anything.  If anything, Wesley should have offered up his life as sacrifice for ever inconveniencing her with his disgusting human emotions.  Instead, he gave her instructions.  He made jokes about her blue.  He patronized her.  Illyria, patronized by a human.  If only she had had full range of her power, she would have vaporized him on the spot!  Only, she knew she wouldn't have.  She could have easily killed him, even after he and the confounded Wolfram and Hart stole her greatest strength.  Instead, she allowed it.

            But none of it mattered anymore because Wesley was dead.  His stupid frail human body had finally given out on him.  She didn't know what had happened to Wesley's friends after the battle.  Charles Gunn's body was somewhere in the alley.  Probably.  The ashes of Angel and Spike would be scattered throughout.  Unless they had managed to get inside before the sun came out.  Assuming, of course, they hadn't turned to dust long before the moon set.  That didn't matter.  They had been courteous, sometimes even kind.  But they had not been her friends.  Even though Spike would have made a wondrous pet.

            She did not know what became of them, and she truthfully could not care.  She was thinking about Wesley.  Struck down by Vale.  He hadn't wanted to see her at the end.  He had wanted the shell.  She had obliged him.  Assumed the Burkle persona until he died.  But it had been painful.  Not just watching him die…it shouldn't have affected her.  But it hurt that when it was the end of things, Illyria came second to a human.  Truthfully thinking, probably not even second.  She was probably ranked far below the other human and the half-breeds. Even below the wretched demon who was a disgrace to his species and had the nerve to poke fun at her.  Only Wesley was allowed to do that.  And sometimes Spike, but just because he was so amusing to play with.

            It had felt good to kill Vale.  But only momentarily.  It was good that the monster who stole Wesley away from her could do more harm, but it did not change the fact Wesley was dead.  In a rare flash of insight into human feeling, she understood that this was how Wesley felt after killing her Qual H'Xan.  The one he deemed responsible for the shell's death.  She knew that she was responsible for the shell's death.  But Wesley never tried to exact vengeance upon her.  He knew, she supposed, that nothing could resurrect his lover.  Nothing short of tearing the fabric of reality.  And that never worked out like planned.

            Finally looking away from the alley littered with corpses, Illyria looked down at the body she cradled protectively in her arms.  It was so fragile, she could have crushed his bones and not even realized it.  She was not unversed in human rituals of death.  But she refused to allow Wesley a dishonorable human burial.  He deserved much more than that.

            So she left the city.  Her movement was fast enough that few humans noticed her passing beyond the small gust of wind that swept past them from still air.  She took him to the coast, where she could see the ocean.  She arranged him gently in a field full of grass.  He stood, supported by her strong hands, looking out over the ocean, a peaceful smile played across his lips.  She leaned in, not letting her grip loosen and kissed those deceivingly happy lips lightly.

            The blue started there, but it spread quickly through his face and down his torso.  It did not take long before he was completely encased in shimmering blue, more beautiful and sparkling than the finest sapphires men could find.  She drew back and looked down at the inscription she had created on the pedestal that filled the gap between his feet and the ground.

_Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_

_A Noble Warrior_

_Of Both Mind_

_And Magic_

_May his soul find bliss_

            Surveying her monument to the one man she had ever truly cared about, she was surprised to feel distinct wetness on her face.  Wonderingly, she placed a hand to her cheek to confirm it.  It was true.  Water was coming from her eyes.  This was something humans called crying.  It was a filthy, emotional, human activity.  The God-king does not-

            "No," Illyria smoothly interrupted herself, "the God-king does."

_End_


End file.
